Chapter Thirty-Three
Isla
Drip. Drip. Drip. I count the drops in my head every time they hit the stone. It’s all I can do to keep my mind off the ache in my shoulders and the numbness in my hands. Time has stood still since they left me here.
“Hey Sweets,” Charlie calls from his cell. “How are you holding up there?”
“By chains,” I grumble. My voice is raspy from lack of water.
“Don’t let them break you, Isla,” Scotty shouts.
Never. I’ll see the stones painted in everyone’s blood before they break me. Determination set in my soul. I try to hold my head up to look at the door, but the pain is too much. I call out to Scotty. “What day is it?”
“Ahh,” Scotty hesitates. I can practically hear the calculating from here. There are some muffled grumbles before he responds. “According to Charlie’s hash marks, it’s only been a day since they’ve left ya in there, sweets. Three days since we’ve had the honor of meetin’ ya.”
Three days. Three days I’ve been here, which means a week since Wyll’s death. A week since I’ve been in Rhylen’s arms. The screams of the villagers' ring in my ears as the betrayal in Wyll’s eyes continue to haunt me. Did they find him? Give him the hero’s burial he deserved?
Footsteps pull me out of the spiral of nightmares and memories as Oliver and his prince walk through the heavy door. They wear matching sinister grins as Coley follows in right behind them. My stomach rumbles, causing them to chuckle.
“Hungry, Islabelle?” Oliver grins. He carries a small basket with him. From the smell wafting from it, I can tell it is fresh bread.
Hunger pains feel like stabs over and over in my stomach as Oliver sets the basket on the small table. He folds the cloth back, revealing a small loaf. “We thought you might want a small bite.”
“Don’t call me that,” I retort. My stomach may be empty, but I don’t want anything from them. For all I care, they can rot. Oliver sighs, as if he were dealing with a petulant toddler.
Cailean pulls out a small, bejeweled dagger. The emeralds on the handle twinkle in the lantern light Coley is slowly lighting. He walks towards me, twirling the knife in his hands. “Tell me who is involved with the Hood.”
I try to look away, to look anywhere, but at the man in front of me. My arms scream in pain at the subtle movement.
“I can end this pain,” Cailean whispers as he circles me. “You only have to say the word.”
“Fuck you,” I spit.
“Pity.”
He glides the dagger down my spine. The sear takes my mind off the pain in my shoulders from hanging. My slip of a dress hangs loosely on my frame from Cailean’s slice, but I still keep my mouth shut. Stars dance in my gaze.
“You keep your loyalty to those who don’t deserve it. Why is that?” Coley asks as Cailean continues to circle me.
“Because I’ve seen the truth,” I grit through my teeth. “I’ve heard the truth.”
Cailean’s eyes light up at my words. “Yes, yes. Go on. Who have you heard these so-called truths from?”
I try to stand a little taller, ignoring my muscles protesting the movement. “The screams of terror through a burning village were loud enough.”
Anger and annoyance flashes in Cailean’s eyes. Stupid of him to believe that he will get any knowledge he seeks from me. He looks to the sheriff, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Does she look thirsty to you?”
“Ahh,” Coley chuckles. “A bit parched, has been a minute since she’s had anything to drink, remember?”
Cailean looks at Oliver, nodding his head.
He sends him off down the hall. When Oliver comes back, he’s carrying two buckets of water.
Cailean takes a bucket from him and slings the water at me.
I start coughing from the water I’ve inhaled as soon as it hits me.
My throat tightens and my eyes water as I try to catch my breath.
“There,” The Prince says with a satisfied smile. “That should do it.”
The cold seeps into my bones, sending a chill deep into my chest. I start to shake and instantly hate myself. Prince Cailean laughs at the show of weakness. “Oh, Isla.”
Abruptly, he turns and heads to the door. Looking back over his shoulder, he smiles again. It’s unnerving. “I’ll let you two catch up. Make up for some lost time. Maybe plan your wedding while you’re at it. Come along, Sheriff. I believe you have taxes to collect.”
Oliver doesn’t say anything, allowing the echoing of footsteps to fill the void. He gives me a sympathetic look, making me want to scoff. Back is the tender-Oli, the sympathetic, and endearing Oli. Bile crawls up my throat as he walks closer.
“I can free you from this, Isla,” he whispers. His nose grazes my cheek, causing an involuntary shudder. “Let me be your hero again.”
My skin itches to move away from him and to wipe the feel of his skin off of me. I look forward to the heavy wooden door, refusing to look at him. “I believe you’re confused about the role you’ve played.”
“I was protecting you,” Oliver bites out; his mask slipping a bit.
“By keeping me in the dark?”
“By keeping you safe!” He snaps. “I told you not to involve yourself with Raia. I told you I was handling things. I told you not to meddle in the village. You did this, Isla. You did.”
I try to cover my ears and shut my eyes, refusing to listen to the words he spews. “I didn’t,” I whisper.
“All you had to do was listen. You never listen, though. Why can’t you just listen? I told you to stay on the farm, to give me time. I was going to take care of us.”
I open my mouth to refute, but he cuts me off. “But you went into the village with your friends. You went to that rebel meeting.”
Shock widens my eyes. Oliver laughs, a deep bellowing laugh. “Oh, Isla. You’re so stupid. You honestly think I didn’t know? That I wouldn’t find out about that?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I start, trying to explain.
“Don’t bother with the excuses. I know what happened. You killed your papa. You forced my family’s hand when you started hanging with the rebels.”
I wince. His insult hits me right in the heart. I want to ignore him, but there’s a tiny voice in the back of my mind reminding me he’s right. That if maybe, just maybe, I stayed at the farm that night, my papa would still be alive. But you’d still be clueless, Rhylen’s voice echoes in my mind.
“You’re lying,” I whisper.
Oliver tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear and gives me a pitying look. He scrapes his knuckles across my face. “You did this. You’re making me do this. You’re choosing to make me hurt you.”
He turns abruptly, walking away from me. “Think about what you’re doing, Isla. Think about what you’re doing to us.”
With that, Oliver walks out the heavy door.
He sends a guard in to extinguish the lights, leaving me in the dark once more.
His words repeat in my head over and over.
I try to tell myself it's not true, but every string of events have me shaking my head. My papa’s murder, Wyll’s murder, the screams of terror.
All I can see is death and Oliver shaking his head.
“Isla,” a voice calls out. I only whimper in response. The pain in my back, the numbness from my shoulders, the cold wet dress, the shivers; it’s all too much. I feel like I’m faltering. “Don’t let them win, sweets.”
“Don’t let them win,” I whisper.
∞∞∞
“Rise and shine, Isla,” a grating voice rumbles in my face as a rough hand smacks my face. I refuse to open my eyes, just praying that all of this is a nightmare and that Rhylen will be waking me soon.
Sheriff Coley doesn’t leave me alone, though. He gives me a harsh shove, jostling every joint that’s gone numb from the position they’ve left me in. A high-pitched giggle has me opening my eyes.
Philipa stands before me, all prim and proper in her pale pink dress and her hair piled on top of her head. She wears a diamond encrusted tiara and a necklace dripping in sparkling diamonds and tear dropped sea pearls.
“Hello, Isla,” Philipa grins. It feels predatory, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. She looks down her nose at me. “My, how the mighty have fallen.”
“What do you want?” I snap. Mustering all the strength that I can, I try to stand a little taller. If I can just pull off an illusion that I’m far better than I feel, maybe, just maybe, she’ll go.
She leans in closer to me— a breath away. “You will die here. Alone. Used. Broken. The girl who thought she could be more.”
I can’t stop the laugh that pulls from my chest. She lights a fire of defiance in my chest, waking the beast that Oliver tried to snuff out.
“You stupid girl,” I spit. Philipa’s eyes light with rage, but I push on, not letting that stop me. “You sit here, in your gilded tower, clueless. Just following your idiot princey around, but little do you know what’s coming for you.”
She gasps, clutching her chest. Turning to Coley, she throws out her hand. “Give me the whip.”
His eyebrows push together, “what?”
“Clearly, I must take things in my own hands. You incompetent idiots. We want her whimpering, begging, BLEEDING!” She snatches the whip from Coley and storms behind me. I brace myself for the blinding pain.
Crack.
The sting across my back makes my skin feel as if it were on fire. She moves to strike again, so I squeeze my eyes shut. I’m bracing for an impact that never comes.
“That’s enough, Philipa,” a deep voice snaps. I open my eyes to see Henry glaring at his sister.
She storms away from me, marching towards her older brother. “What are you doing here?” Philipa bellows. Fury clings to her like a second skin from her interrupted plans. Henry’s eyes dart at me for a second before he’s laughing at his sister.
“I only wanted to see what our brother dearest was up to. I heard our old friend, here, has returned to Oli’s arms. I wanted to see if it were true.”
“She’s a whore,” Philipa snaps. “She’s getting what she deserves. A life tortured and used. On her back, where she belongs.”
Henry rubs his temples in frustration and sighs. It sounds weary and pained. He gives his sister a look. Coley slowly takes the whip from Philipa’s hands. She whips her head towards him, glaring at him. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demands.
“Oli is going to expect her to be able to stand, Philipa,” Henry explains, exasperated. “Besides, I was sent down here to move her.”
Philipa gapes at him. “Move her? Move her where?”
“To the chair, sister. Settle down. They don’t want her dying down here and hanging from these shackles will only do that. Quickly.”
Coley nods along with Henry. “Prince Cailean wants to use her, remember?”
My ears perk at the bit of information Coley dropped. I try to pay attention to every word, but the pain in my back drowns out half of the words as Henry moves towards me. Philipa stomps her foot, reminding me of a toddler not getting their way. Her arms cross and she storms out the door.
Coley follows after her, leaving Henry alone with me. I’m apprehensive. What can the heir of the Cahir Dukedom possibly do?
What damage is he eager to perform? After a bit of silence, Henry focuses on the shackles. There’s a pitying look on his face as he slowly guides me to a chair. Stars dance across my eyes at the pain and change in position.
“Oh, Isla,” he whispers. He holds his hand out and I flinch, bracing for the sting along my face. Henry sighs, walking toward the corner of the room. The slap never comes, instead, he fiddles through a basket that has been left on the small table.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Henry puts a finger up to his mouth, motioning me to be quiet. He walks back towards me with a small cup and bread in his hand. “It’s not much,” he starts to explain, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’s the best I can do right now.”
He puts the cup up to my lips, giving me the first sip of clean water in four days. I want to gulp it down, but he stops me. “Easy, you’ll make yourself sick.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
“Listen to me,” Henry whispers, breaking off a piece of the loaf. “The walls have ears, Isla. You need to tread carefully. I’ll try to come back when I can. I’m working on something, just hang on for me.”
I nod, words failing me. We sit in silence while I finish the small loaf. He gives me a tight smile once more before I’m left in the silence and darkness.